


a careful eye on the cue card

by elithewho



Series: if you would like to make a call... [3]
Category: Phone Booth (2002)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Handcuffs, M/M, Praise Kink, Restraints, Sexual Coercion, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: The caller had him dangling from a string and all he need do was flick his hand and Stu would be a twitching mess.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Morgan for the beta <3
> 
> Title is from "False Advertising" by Bright Eyes.

Two months. Two months was all it took to take Stu from what he considered to be relative sexual autonomy to under the complete sway of some maniac he’d only seen in person once. Basically if the caller even suggested he jump, Stu would be begging to know how high and then hating himself for his weakness. 

He’d been driven by fear, of course – fear for his life, for the lives of his neighbors – but the caller barely even threatened him anymore. He’d call and Stu would immediately feel his skin tingle, a warmth twisting in his groin. The caller had him dangling from a string and all he need do was flick his hand and Stu would be a twitching mess.

It didn’t help that he had no friends, no one to talk to except the caller. Kelly had cut him out of her life without a backward glance that, yeah, really hurt. Classic Stu, always fucking up his life because he was too selfish to consider anyone else. 

“You’re all mine, Stu,” the caller reminded him one afternoon after talking him to another shattering orgasm, three fingers buried in his ass.

“Fuck off,” he managed to mutter, voice cracking and ruining the effect.

The caller chuckled. Stu rubbed sweat out his eyes with the back of his hand and rolled over onto his stomach.

“You’re a good kid, Stu, deep down,” the caller said.

“And you’re a psycho, so I don’t really appreciate the sentiment.”

But he knew the caller could always tell when he was lying. He needed to say it anyway, though, hoping to keep that creeping shame and humiliation from chipping away at his fragile ego. It was easier to ignore how he begged and pleaded to come in the heat of the moment. And how much he loved it when the caller gave him even the smallest bit of praise. 

“But if you weren’t such a tease, maybe I wouldn’t have to fuck you for real,” the caller continued and Stu felt his heart stop.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You think I’d just make you jerk off for me and that would be enough?” the caller said, sounding irritated now. That was never a good sign. “Time to pay the piper, Stu.”

Stu sat up, heart pounding. A fresh sheen of sweat was beading on his forehead. 

“You’re full of shit,” he croaked, throat closing up in panic.

“You’ll be receiving more specific instructions in a few days,” was all the caller said to that, casual as ever.

After he hung up, Stu pulled up his boxers and paced the length of his small bedroom. He knew now not to doubt anything the caller promised him. Now would be the time to go to the cops and tell them, _Hey, remember that psycho who held me hostage in a phone booth for hours? He’s back._ But that would mean explaining everything that he’d done to him. Made him do. The humiliation was too much to bear. 

Stu looked down at his shaking hands, wondering how he became so fucking cowardly. He’d always been afraid, of being weak, of failure, of losing everything. His father had knocked him around for being a pussy so many times that he’d learned to fake it well enough to fool people. But only for a short amount of time and he’d always be unmasked eventually. That was the caller’s game, to tear him down to nothing and then keep him, small and weak, in the palm of his hand.

 

Four days later, Stu got a letter in the mail. He only ever got bills and junk mail. The letter was from a New Jersey PO box and Stu immediately started sweating. He’d been on edge for days, waiting for whatever instructions the caller had told him about. It was pathetic, how easily the caller could toy with him, turn him into an anxious, hyperventilating mess.

He ripped the letter open, finding only a single typed page, unsigned. It didn’t need to be, Stu knew exactly who it was from. It gave him a time and place, 2 pm at a seedy motel in Queens, instructing him to check in under the name “Paul Smith.” At the end, in place of a signature, it told him to shave. Stu scrubbed his stubbly jaw, nerves making his hand shake again. It was true that he hadn’t been keeping up with personal grooming as much he used to. The flashy little goatee had worked for the PR life, but he was little more than a bum these days.

The instructions told him nothing else. He scrunched the paper up in his hand, intending to rip it up. But then he stopped, smoothed it out, read it again. He paced in circles, a sick knot of anxiety twisting up his guts. He knew what he should do. Go straight to the police instead of continuing to play his sick little game. But he also knew he wouldn’t do that.

Stu woke up at the crack of dawn the next day, too riddled with anxiety to sleep. He tried to eat some breakfast, but his cornflakes just turned into a soggy mess. Instead he stood at his window, chainsmoking and knocking back endless cups of coffee. He was a jittery mess by 10 am and took a semi-hot shower, all that the cheap plumbing would allow. He trimmed his beard and shaved for the first time in ages, hand shaking so bad that he nicked himself a few times, cursing viciously at his reflection as he dabbed at the tiny rivulets of blood. 

All his fine Italian suits were badly in need of a pressing but Stu didn’t care anymore. He stared at himself in the spotted mirror, at his eyes rimmed in dark circles, his wrinkled suit and surly expression. Well, he didn’t want to be late.

Stu just didn’t have the money anymore for a taxi, so he had to take two trains and a bus. He made it with five minutes to spare and checked in without any issue, the receptionist clearly not caring if he was Paul Smith or not. The room was what he could expect from a cheap shithole: peeling wallpaper, broken TV, dirty carpet. He didn’t even want to imagine what was on the bedsheets but he sat on the bed anyway, toe tapping with nerves. 20 minutes went by and Stu was still waiting. He paced like a trapped animal, scratching nervously at the razor burn on his jaw. 

After nearly 30 minutes of nerve-wracking insanity, his phone rang. Stu nearly dropped the thing in his haste to answer it.

“What room?” was all the caller said.

“T-twenty-three,” Stu stuttered out, sweat dampening his brow.

“Unlock the door, then stand with your back to it in front of the bed,” the caller instructed calmly and then hung up before Stu could answer.

He just expected Stu to comply. It almost made him want to say fuck you and do the opposite, but the idea just made him sick with fear. He did exactly what he said, just like always.

It felt like an eternity passed by before he heard the click of the door open and he felt someone stand behind him. Stu swallowed hard, feeling the man’s breath on the back of his neck.

“Good job, Stu. I knew you’d come through.”

The last time he heard that voice in person, he’d been too drugged up to think straight. It still made his hair stand on end and a shiver run through him. That voice alone had coaxed him to orgasm so many times that just hearing it made his skin heat up, his face flush.

Then he felt something cold and unmistakably metal press against the back of his neck.

“If you scream or fight me at all, I’ll blow your brains out. Got it, Stu?”

Stiffly, his heart hammering so loud he could barely think, Stu nodded. 

“Good boy,” said the caller, as if he was a dog.

Stu felt a hand graze his ear, then trail down his jaw, light as a feather. He shivered, biting back a strangled groan. The hand cupped his cheek, warm and firm.

“So good at following instructions, Stu,” the caller muttered and Stu liked to think he didn’t lean into his touch. “Strip,” he said succinctly and Stu’s hands jumped to comply immediately.

It was unspeakably humiliating, but he felt the cool metal the whole time, warming up the longer it stayed pressed against his skin. He stripped off his clothes with fumbling hands and when he was in just his boxers, he paused, breathing hard.

“Go on,” the caller said, voice low and thick. He nudged Stu’s neck with the gun.

Stu shoved down his boxer shorts, toeing them aside and stood there completely naked and exposed. Most mortifying of all, his cock was half-hard, excited by the caller’s presence alone. He felt a hand on his hip, touching him so much lighter than he would have imagined. The caller’s hand slid over his stomach, petting the soft line of hair that lead to his groin. Stu squirmed despite himself, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin. The hand brushed over the head of his cock, now fully hard and straining, and cupped it loosely. Stu’s mouth fell open and he groaned softly. The caller chuckled and Stu could feel the puff of air against his neck.

“Is that for me?” the caller asked, hand stroking Stu’s cock with maddening lightness.

Stu felt a nasty retort on the tip of his tongue, but the threat of his head being blown off kept it in for once. He was shivering as the caller pushed him forward, propelling him onto the bed with his hand and the gun’s muzzle. Stu flopped on his belly without a fight. His legs felt like jelly anyway, barely able to keep him upright. The gun against his neck disappeared, but within seconds the caller had taken Stu’s wrists and secured them at the small of his back with what felt like ice cold handcuffs. 

With his heart pounding so hard it made him dizzy, Stu pressed his face into the bedspread, trying not to freak out. He’d never felt more helpless and vulnerable. He felt two hands on his hips now, stroking him lightly and then squeezing his ass.

“It was nice of you to practice on that dildo, Stu,” the caller casually, parting his ass cheek and brushing a thumb over his hole. Stu clenched instinctively and groaned. “Means I can fuck you hard and not worry too much about hurting you.”

Stu whimpered pathetically as the caller prodded his hole again. He couldn’t help but shrink away in fear, shoulders hunching automatically.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go too hard on you,” the caller said, knuckles grazing his hip like he was trying to calm a cowering dog. 

There was a sound of a bottle being popped open and then seconds later Stu felt cold, viscous liquid being smeared on his ass. Stu flinched against the sudden coldness, but the caller kept rubbing it in until it warmed from his skin, then used the lubrication to push two fingers in. Stu whined at the intrusion, the caller’s fingers feeling somehow very different from how his own felt. 

“Did you like that monster dildo in your ass, Stu?” the caller asked softly, his fingers screwing deeper, holding him still with his other hand. “Did you imagine it was my cock when you fucked yourself?”

The caller laughed as Stu only moaned into the bedsheet, hips moving just slightly, hard cock trapped against the mattress.

“You’re desperate for it, aren’t you? You fucking slut.”

The caller suddenly withdrew his fingers with a wet sounding pop and gave Stu a sharp slap on the ass with his other hand. Stu had to turn his head in order to breathe, sucking in huge lungfuls of air as he tried not to whimper. The caller was still laughing as Stu heard the sounds of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being pushed down. Stu stiffened immediately as the caller roughly grabbed his hips and pressed the blunt head of his cock against Stu’s slick hole. Stu couldn’t help but shudder, trying to shrink away from the intrusion.

“I know you want me to fuck you, Stu,” the caller said, spreading his cheeks again so he could ease the tip inside him.

“Fuck, no,” Stu finally managed to mutter. His wrists were aching, twisting in the cuffs so much that the metal cut into his skin.

“You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t,” the caller muttered in amusement, teasing him with just the head of his cock, pushing inside him and then out again. 

“You threatened me, you sick fuck!” he nearly shouted, voice cracking.

“You want this,” the caller remarked casually and then shoved all the way inside him. Stu couldn't help shouting in pain. The caller rubbed his hip soothingly, but pulled out to slam into him again almost immediately. “You know what I realized, Stu?” the caller said, voice calm and contemplative as he continued to fuck him hard enough to make his head spin. “Your daddy didn’t hug you enough.” Stu choked, the comment punctuated by another brutal thrust. “Was he a hard man, Stu? Did he beat you? He was a drinker, wasn’t he?”

Stu didn’t need to nod frantically in agreement but he found himself doing it anyway. Every thrust pulled a tormented whine from his throat. It was so much worse than easing himself onto a massive dildo; the relentless pounding felt like it was tearing him in half.

And the caller kept chuckling. “I bet he used the belt on you, huh Stu? No matter what you did, he’d always treat you like dirt. All you ever wanted was a little love, right Stu? Just the smallest sign from daddy to show you he cared?”

“Fuck! You!” Stu grunted, his teeth clenched tight. It was true, all of it, and he hated how easily the caller had seemed to pluck it out of his head.

The caller laughed heartily but then his brutal pace slowed. The strokes were still deep, but he was slow, almost gentle. He ran a hand down Stu’s flank, then up to graze his ribs. 

“You wish daddy hugged you more. You wish he said he loved you,” the caller growled, face now close to his ear. Stu bit back a sob and the caller changed the angle of his thrusts, brushing something deep inside him that made his insides heat up and tighten.

The caller’s laugh was low and derisive as he leaned over him, ruffling his hair and tucking an arm under his chest so he was all but hugging him as he fucked him deep. That was getting to him, the physicality of touch, the fingers brushing his smooth jaw. Stu kept his eyes squeezed closed, trying and failing to block it out.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” the caller muttered in his ear, the sound sending a hot tingle down his spine. “You feel so good on my cock, Stu,” he said, voice sounding strained. 

Stu could feel his chest pressing against his back, trapping his cuffed hands and making the metal bite into him harder. But the caller was panting in his ear, fucking him hard but gentle enough to send a stab of pleasure to his cock with every thrust. His own cock was hard and leaking as it rubbed against the mattress and he remembered being a teenager, waking up from a vivid dream and getting himself off by rocking into his mattress like this, biting the pillow so he wouldn’t make a sound. It was all messing with his head, the pleasure and the pain and the fear, all completely intertwined. He felt the caller’s hand on his chest pinch his nipple, tease and play with it until it was hard. Stu’s mouth fell open as he moaned.

“You want to make daddy proud?” the caller whispered and Stu gasped sharply. “Then you can come on my cock.”

Stu struggled to shake his head. The caller grabbed a handful of hair, tugging a little as he slid his hand down his belly to wrap a fist around his aching cock. Stu howled, his hips thrusting into that hand even as he pushed back against the cock pumping into him.

“Come on, son,” the caller said, thumbing the leaking cock head. “Come for me.”

It was too much. Stu wailed wordlessly as he came, painting the mattress and the caller’s hand and his own stomach with warm spunk. His orgasm was so intense that he felt dizzy, every sensation intensified by the caller continuing to fuck him.

“Atta boy,” the caller said, clearly pleased. Stu was completely boneless, his cock still twitching in the slick mess he had made.

Then the caller righted himself, pausing his strokes just long enough to grab the cuffs still holding his sore wrists together for leverage. He fucked Stu in earnest, just as hard as he promised, and Stu couldn’t help but yelp at every thrust, so wrung out from his orgasm that he could only take it, the brutal pummelling that seemed to rip him open at the seams. His hands were going numb from the cuffs digging into his wrists. It felt like hours before the caller finally stiffened, coming inside him with a deep groan. He stopped, panting, still buried in his ass when he bent down to kiss the back of his neck, such a frighteningly gentle move that Stu squirmed beneath him.

When he finally pulled out with a small grunt, Stu moaned in relief. He was sore all over and probably wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a week. And that bone-deep shame seemed to well inside him more powerfully than usual, making his eyes swim with tears. There was a click and his hands were freed from the cuffs. Stu’s shoulders were aching from his arms being pulled back and he curled his fingers, trying to coax the feeling back to the tips as pins and needles pricked at them. 

A hard slap to his ass made Stu jump and he turned his head, vision blurry with unshed tears. He could see the caller now, standing in his undershirt and boxers, cleaning his glasses casually. Stu remembered that blond hair and long face from the haze of his memory, standing at his feet while telling him to stay honest.

“I knew you’d be a good fuck, Stu,” the caller said thoughtfully, holding up his glasses to inspect them for smudges. “Honestly, I should have done it sooner.”

Stu rolled over onto his side. His wrists ached terribly, a ring of dark red indicating that they’d be swollen soon. He didn’t quite have it in him for a curse-laden retort, not this time.

“I’ll keep in touch,” the caller said, still casual as ever, as he pulled on his trousers and shirt. “Oh, and – I’m surprised you fell for it, Stu. But I guess they always do.”

He threw something on the bed by his head and Stu recognized a clearly fake gun, made of steel but capped in bright orange over the barrel. The caller laughed cruelly as Stu squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears escaping down his cheeks. Stu didn’t see him leave, but he heard the door snick closed behind him. He curled up tight into the fetal position, tears dampening the bedsheet beside his face. 

Stu liked to think he’d never allow it to happen again, but he wasn’t just crying from the pain. He knew that when the caller told him to meet him somewhere else, anywhere else, he would do it.


End file.
